


Not Your Lover

by DumpsterDiving101



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cheating, Clint Barton's Farm, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Healthy Relationships, Infidelity, Love, Multi, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov-centric, POV Natasha Romanov, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Iron Man 2, Protective Clint Barton, Red Room (Marvel), Relationship Discussions, Safe Haven, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterDiving101/pseuds/DumpsterDiving101
Summary: The redhead did not have an identity. She did not have an age or a name or a family or a past. She only had the present and her cover story.After Clint rescues Natasha, she creates a new cover that she may begin to believe just a bit too much.





	Not Your Lover

 The spider follows him closely, hood drawn up to hide her red hair and face ducked low. She is a teenager, following a family friend into his intimidating workplace; she is a daughter, eyes clinging onto her father’s back; she is an intern, scared out of her wits just to be in the presence of the building. She is whoever, whatever she needs to be, whatever they need to see, in order to let their eyes glaze past her like she was never even there at all. 

 They go up the elevator and she hesitates getting off, but then Clint wraps a hand around her wrist and offers her a smile. He does not pull her forwards; she walks on her own volition. 

 In the room, she does not make eye contact. The situation is explained to the man with the eyepatch, who keeps on trying to make eye contact with the redhead though she refuses. She smiles meekly, but doesn’t try to make it too convincing. All she knows is that she is slouching, though she never slouches, and she is flustered, though she is never shaken. If she were to sit up and meet his eyes like she was trained, the ruse would be over. The ruse is not allowed to be over. 

 Clint’s request is openly denied, so he announces that he is taking an extended leave of absence. The man with the eyepatch tells him to leave the spider with him, and Clint openly denies him. “She’s just a girl,” he says, like that should be enough. The redhead had heard that phrase many, many times, but for once she gets the feeling that he means she is young, not incompetent. She is both. She is neither. 

 In the safehouse in South Dakota he asks her what her interests are. She has long since discovered that people do not like when they’re questions are ignored, so she makes up a life. She likes board games and canoeing and reading. Her mother was French and her father was Russian. She regrets what happened. 

 He believes her and every night, he dusts off a game for them to play. 

 He tries to get her to heal, not understanding that everything about her is manufactured. Her mother's womb was a petri dish, her own bed was a cell. She smiles and wonders how long it will take for him to fall. 

 It does not take long. She gets the feeling, one night, that he’d fallen a long, long time ago, but only recently started showing it. He comes home with offerings of fresh fruit and card games, and for Christmas, he buys her a canoe and admits that he has to go. He leaves, and she uses the canoe. He arrives back a week later, and upon seeing the dinner she made for him his eyes light up. 

 It is a cultivated domesticity, and she almost has him convinced that she is a real person. He calls her Tasha, and she calls him Clint, and she may not have any interests or hobbies or humanity, she must admit that the view from the lake at sunrise is beautiful. His offerings of love-- the games, and the canoe, and the fruit-- do not go unnoticed. He desires her affection, and one night, she gives it to him. She straddles his waist and presses her lips to his, and it has been a while but she is sure that she remembers how the dance goes. When you learn to play a song on the piano, or to pirouette, you may go years without practice but when your fingers touch the keys again they arch, and when you lift yourself on one foot the other with automatically point. Just like that, loving is a practiced art, one that was instilling into the spider at a young age. She will not, does not, forget. 

 She kisses him, and he lets her, but does not respond for a few moments. When he does, it is to brush back her soft red hair, smoothing his thumb across her cheek, and his lips move slowly like he believes that two can make love only by kissing. His naivete is endearing, like a bug caught in a nest is endearing. She plants her knees firmly on either side of his thighs, and as he begins to kiss back she rolls her hips and lets out a little gasp. It, like everything else, is synthetic. 

 He pushes her away gently. “You're a lovely girl, but I can't. I'll explain to you sometime else.” 

 She is ashamed, but he tries to make it up to her with more fruit and she is not allowed to push him away, so when he offers her his smile she returns it with a shy one of her own. He starts saying ‘I love you’ casually, as a goodbye or excuse when he beats her at monopoly. 

 The redhead does not feel. The spider does not feel. 

 She blushes. 

 Three agents break into the safehouse and she kills them before Clint leaves the bathroom. When he exits, breath minty fresh and hair rumpled, she bursts into sobs and let's him hug her and rub her back. 

 He makes her a fake ID and they develop a cover story. For the ID, he asks how old she is, and for a moment she forgets her cover in an attempt to search for the truth. In the red room, they did not allow her to have an age. She was whatever the cover needed her to be. She could be fifteen or twenty five, whatever he wanted. 

 She said twenty, and it felt like a lie but she wasn’t sure why. He pressed his lips together and told her she was too young, and the spider let her hair fall in front of her face just so he could brush it back. 

 They traveled together as father and daughter, though in reality Clint was probably not old enough for that. He’d named an age too, but the spider didn't trust it. She trusted him; a flaw, she knew, but his smiles were too genuine and his sweetness was too wholesome. He was sweeter than the fruit, and in turn, it made her mouth unaccustomed to the bitterness, which was weakness. 

 They flew to another airport and Clint walked towards a helicopter like he knew what the hell he was doing and offered her a hand up. When she asked if they were stealing it, he laughed and told her that he had a timeshare with some friends. 

 It was a SHIELD helicopter and the spider pretended she didn't know. She feigned ignorance as he flew the copter back to base to dispose of her. 

 But when they landed, it wasn't in any base she recognized. The helicopter gently set down on a square of grass and he offered her his hand on the climb out. She held his hand closely, like a fearful child as they walked to the farmhouse. Before they could reach for the doorknob the door was flung open and a woman lit up, smiling like she’s just won the lottery.

 “Oh, you were right, she’s just a kid,” Laura said, and engulfed the redhead in a hug. When she pulled away, she pulled Clint in, kissing him like she was never taught how but learned through practice. Then they were pulled inside and a little boy ran over, calling out “Daddy!” 

 Clint and Laura took the spider for a walk later that day, watching the sun set over the rolling hills. “I wanted a way for them to be safe,” Clint said, and he was holding Laura’a hand, not the redhead’s. “I made a deal with Fury to figure this out. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner, but I have to be careful. Laura thinks I trust too easily.” 

 Laura beamed and teased him about it while the spider smiled smally. Laura was right in that Clint trusted too easily. Laura did, too. 

 They stayed together for three days, playing family. Callum needed answers and Clint suggested they tell him that Tasha was his sister, but luckily Laura came to the rescue and called her ‘Aunt’. Aunt Tasha tried to fill her role, helping Laura cook and babysitting Callum and keeping her room perfectly clean. There were three bedrooms in the house, and they didn't tell her, but she knew they intended to have more than just Callum. At night, when the spider offered to clear the plates Laura looked at her husband with hungry eyes. 

 After three days of family, Clint was called on a mission. Natasha heard through the wall and began her post mission ritual of stretching, balancing, controlling her thoughts breathes pulse when he poked his head in and told her he’d be back in a few days. 

 The spider let herself look hurt. “You don't want me to come with you?” 

 Clint gave her a sad smile. “You said you wanted to get out. I'm not going to pull you back in.” 

 Did she? The redhead had had too many personas and covers and lives and stories, they were all getting tangled in her mind. But when she nodded and pretended to be meek, his expression told her that was the right response for this lifetime. 

 She and Laura and Callum saw him off, and once the helicopter was high enough in the sky Tasha cried. They were synthetic. Everything was synthetic. But when Laura wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly, the relief and comfort was real. 

 They woke up early, taking turns watching Callum and doing the duties of the house. There was cooking and cleaning to do, but also gardening, and farming, and reading. Laura treated her passions like they were duties, never letting herself work too hard without a break. She and Tasha divided the work but sometimes, when they decided Callum was fine with his coloring books in the living room, they would go out and do the work together. Laura cleaned the barn and Natasha fixed the tractor, and then rubbed the grease on her hands on Laura’s arm, who then smeared dirt on her shirt and they kept going, play fighting and squealing and chasing each other until they were tackling each other and running through the sprinklers, and what did it matter? There was no one to see, not for miles and hills and pastures and roads. They were alone in their corner in the center of the world, so if they wanted to get their hair wet in the sprinklers and if their clothes clung to them and they abandoned their shoes because they squished when they walked, then who cared? 

 Laura had grown up with brothers, she said. Her entire life she’d been surrounded by boys. She didn't say it, but the redhead got the feeling she liked having a girl to be with, to play with, to laugh with. But it meant that she’d learned to hold her own, so when they rolled and wrestled, Natasha didn't have to hold back too much. Her brain shifted into place soon enough, and before long she didn't have to hold back. She was Tasha, Aunt Tasha, too young and a friend and a co-whatever and Tasha didn't wrestle like she was about to die, she wrestled like she was afraid of the mud. 

 When they went inside, Callum didn't notice or care that their shirts were sticking to them or that they were soaking wet. Laura peppered him with kisses and then looked at Tasha with that smile of hers that was completely real, and told her she could shower first. She gave Tasha a playful wink, and Tasha smirked in return, accepting it without question. She showered and then Laura showered and they all bundled up in oversized sweats and watched a kids movie, throwing popcorn at each other to see who could catch it in their mouths. Tasha was absolutely horrible at it and she absolutely loved it. She was more proud of her flaws than her strengths, which felt backwards.

 Tasha woke up in the middle of the night, her head filled with images of blood and men and grime and she was sick. Not physical. She walked like nothing hurt and went to the kitchen to get some fruit. 

 Laura joined her after a bit and wrapped her arms around her waist like human contact was an easy thing to do. “Nightmares?” she asked, and Tasha nodded because it was easier to explain and easier to then brush off. Laura nodded, putting her chin on the spider’s shoulder. “Sit on the couch with me?” 

 They went and sat together and ate finely cut strawberries. After a few minutes, Laura said “You know, I used to hate my name growing up. I thought that only boring people had a name like Laura, but here I am I guess.” She smiled like it was a joke. 

 “You’re not boring,” Tasha said, and she could hear the softness and the deepness of her own voice. It was just them, just the two of them and the miles and hills and pastures and roads, and she could hear her own voice and she understood why people called her beautiful. She was exactly what they wanted. “Laura, I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever met.” 

 Laura laughed, but didn't deny her. She didn't say that it was a cliche, or that the redhead didn't really mean it. She just accepted it. Tasha imagined Clint, peppering Laura with compliments, all of them truthful, and Laura basking in the affection like one basks in the sun. 

 Laura smiled at the floor. “Well, anyways. I never liked my name much. What about you? Tasha?” 

 The spider/redhead/Tasha looked up. She shrugged. “I don’t need a name.” Or an identity or a family or a farm or any one of the miles, just a cover, just a cover…

 “I think you have a beautiful name. And I think it fits. I don’t know if you knew this, but the name Natasha means ‘born on Christmas’, which could mean a lot of things, but I think it means that you're a gift. And you are. You have been such an incredible gift to this family, and to Clint, and to  _ me… _ ” 

 They hugged each other, and if Tasha cried then it was purely synthetic. 

 As the days-- weeks?-- went by Tasha stopped questioning things quite so much. She adapted the new identity like it was the one she was always made to have. Clint sent forms to the house, and together Laura and Tasha filled out the documents to make Tasha a new, permanent identity. She could have others as needed, but the new one was the one her family would know her by, which made it the real one. 

 After looking through all of the documents, Natasha settled on the first one: the birth certificate. It was the very first form her life would have begun with, if she hadn't been hatched in a petri dish with all of the other spiders. The first name was easy: Natasha. For the last name, Natasha looked up at Laura and asked “Should I put Barton, since I'm supposed to be Clint’s sister?” 

 It was quiet for a few moments, then Laura shook her head. “No. That would be too contrived, I want this to be real. Natasha is a Russian name, why don’t you choose a Russian last name too?” 

 So they browsed through the web until Laura went “Oh, I like this one. Tasha, what do you think about Romanoff?” 

 They wrote it down, but then there was the matter of the middle name. “Well, what’s your middle name?” Natasha asked. 

 Laura smiled, because smiling came easily to people like her and Clint and Callum. The redhead was trying to learn. “Lynn.”

 “Laura Lynn Barton. It suits you. Do you… I mean, would you mind if we shared the middle name? It’s common enough, it’d be untraceable--" 

 Before she could even finish, Laura was nodding and smiling and looking like she might want to cry, just a little. Laura wore her heart on her sleeve, because, as Tasha had learned, it was too big for her chest. 

 So Tasha had an identity and Tasha had a family and Tasha had a friend. It was a little too much, maybe, but Tasha could handle it. 

 Tasha. Tasha. Tasha. 

 Natasha Lynn Romanoff. 

 Tasha. 

 The next night Natasha woke up and couldn't go back to bed, Laura found her in the kitchen and offered up her own bed, saying that Clint always slept through the nightmares easier when someone else was there. The spider wanted to deny the invitation but Natasha accepted it. 

 She did sleep better, and she wasn't sure whether it was the warm presence beside her or the gentle rubbing of her shoulders but when she woke up to find an arm draped haphazardly across her waist she found that it was the best sleep she’d had in a while. 

 Chores. Grass. Sprinklers. Walks. Books. Pots. Cartoons. Wooden floors. Rocking chairs. The deck. The roof. The sunset. The sunrise. The lake. 

 Callum called her ‘Aunt Tash’. 

 Natasha tied her hair up out of her face and Laura brushed the loose strands back.

 The two of them lay on a blanket, on the grass, like the soft blades were still too harsh for their skin, and Natasha didn't mind. Laura had one hand under her head when she asked “Do you want to be a mom, eventually?” 

 Natasha let out a breathy laugh. It was the one that came naturally to her, and she thought it could be improved upon but Laura liked it. “I don’t know,” she said, letting herself think about it. Laura didn't demand answers, she just mused and pondered and asked, and if she didn't get a good answer she was fine with it. “Sometimes I feel like I already am a mom.” 

 Laura laughed lightly. They looked up at the darkening evening sky that Laura found so beautiful, and watched the stars begin to show. “I'm so glad you're here. I can’t remember what it was like here without you.”

 And that was Laura, in all her pure, genuine goodness. She didn't lie, and she didn't exaggerate. No, she actually felt those things, those emotions just as strongly as she portrayed them, if not even more. Tasha had a lot to learn. 

 Tasha breathed in and out the crisp, cool air, feeling the blanket underneath her and the woman beside her. “I love being here,” she said honestly. Honesty, she had learned, was one of the strongest things you had. It could be used to be real, which was something special that spiders like her usually weren't allowed; or it could be twisted, used to support something fake. Tasha realized that she’d been too real with Laura. She was supposed to be made out of plastic threads, not out of linen. 

 But Laura didn't mind. She took Natasha’s hand, rubbing it and holding it like human contact was easy, and before Tasha knew what she was doing she rolled over onto her side and was looking at Laura in the eyes. Laura shifted to her side too, meeting her gaze, and neither of them were really looking at each other’s eyes. 

 Natasha was the first to lean in. She knew that if she didn't, Laura would never be the one to initiate it; sbe was too good. So the redhead started it instead, parting her lips and pressing them to Laura’s soft, mauve-pink lips that were, without a doubt, the softest lips she had ever touched. They kissed for minutes and hours, touching innocently, soft and sweet like the redhead had never been before. 

 Laura never told her it was wrong. She never told her she was too young, or they just couldn't, or it wasn't good or it wasn’t right or it wasn't safe or any of the other things Clint had said in his words and his body. She did not reject her, and she did not deny her. 

 Clint came back a week later. Callum was down for his nap and Natasha and Laura were in the kitchen, with Tasha pressed gently but firmly against the counter as they kissed languidly when they heard the helicopter. Tasha froze up in fear-- an insult to her kind and her training-- and the only thing to bring her back was the sound of the chopper blades getting louder. Laura pulled away, asking if she was okay, and Natasha pushed her back. She broke into what was supposed to be a sprint but what was instead a run, a dash, messy footfalls and an expression that conveyed emotions  _ which she wasn't supposed to have.  _ She was supposed to be better, but when push came to shove she truly was a little girl after all. 

 She hid in the barn, watching through a crack in the wall as Clint and Laura reunited. Callum came running out and called out “Daddy!”, meeting his father in a hug, and they were there, father mother son, with no logical room for a fourth. 

 Tasha had made a mistake. She had gotten too comfortable, and hadn't even prepared an emergency bag. Even if she had one, there was nowhere to go. So instead she watched through the crack in the barn. Laura looked distressed, and she looked in Tasha’s direction, Clint turning to follow her gaze. His expression was steely. 

 Laura and Callum stayed behind as Clint marched towards the barn, straight towards Natasha. She stumbled back, looking for a weapon, but everything in the entire barn was a weapon and no, she couldn't do it. She had hurt their family enough, she couldn't, wouldn't. But she could run. She scrambled backwards, leaping over crates and going as far as she could before his voice was bellowing out “ _ Tasha. _ ” 

 The redhead had been called a lot of things, including the bitter ones like  _ slut  _ and  _ homewrecker.  _ She’d always brushed them off, but then again, they’d never been true. 

 She hardly dared to breathe as Clint slowly made his way through the messy barn. She’d been meaning to clean it-- she and Laura were planning to make a day out of it. Now she’s never get to. 

 Clint stopped when he saw her, and Natasha took a step back. He lifted his chin. “Tasha. What are you doing in here?” 

_ Show no fear show no fear show no fear.  _

 “I'm sorry,” she started, because she was  _ terrified. _ “She told you. I'm so sorry. I shouldn’t have-- I'm sorry.” 

 The few moments of silence were hell. Then-- 

 “You two did something together.” 

 Natasha wanted to  _ vomit. _ Laura hadn't told him, which meant that Tasha had just betrayed both of their trust. 

 “We didn't,” she said quickly, trying to save the situation. “We didn't, she would never--" 

 “ _ She  _ would never?” 

 “She would never,” Natasha agreed. “I would. You know I would.” 

 Clint kept staring at her, and Natasha did her best to catalogue his expression. More than anything, he just looked sad. “I guess.” He paused. “What did you do?” 

 “We just kissed,” the redhead promised. 

 Later, she would punish herself for her lack of procedure, for her poor response to the situation. Because, when Clint said “You're lying,” he was using it as an interrogation method, pretending to know more than he did to get her to admit it. 

 She shouldn’t have fallen for it, but she did. “I'm so sorry Clint, I'm so sorry.” 

 Clint looked away, nodding like he wasn't surprised. “Okay. I want you to come with me. Watch Callum for a few minutes while Laura and I take a walk.” 

 Natasha nodded and agreed because all of her training was gone. All that was left was a scared little girl--  _ Natasha Lynn Romanoff _ \-- and she had made a mistake. 

 The wait was hell, and then they were back, and Laura was fine, and they were telling Natasha to come outside with them. She followed, sending one last glance to Callum.   

 Clint and Laura stood side by side, a united front. Clint crossed his arms. “So, you two got up to some mischief while I was gone.” 

 Natasha opened her mouth to apologize again, but nothing came out. 

 Laura and Clint were looking at each other, and neither of them were smiling. “I'm upset,” Clint admitted, “Because we are in a committed, monogamous relationship, and so by being with Tasha you cheated on me.” 

 Laura nodded. “You're right. And you're right to be upset.” 

 “Not to mention-- Laura, this isn’t a good situation for her! Not only is she too young, but her  _ history.  _ Tasha has never had a stable home or support system, and all I wanted was to give her that. There’s a reason I told her no when she kissed me.” 

 Tasha’s eyes snapped to Laura, but she didn't even look surprised. 

 “You knew?” 

 Laura met her eyes. “Of course I knew. Clint and I… we’re a team. There’s already too many secrets between us because of his job, we try not to keep more than we have to.” Clint nodded in agreement. 

 Clint ran a hand through his hair. “Look, this isn’t an ideal situation. I wanted you to have a home where you could be safe, but that’s not always possible when there is a relationship involved. I want you to have options, and if you are in a relationship like that then I'm worried you'd be afraid to end it and make things difficult. But… it’s already started. There’s nothing I can do about that. I'm not going to tell you to stay here and not act on your feelings, and I'm sure as hell not going to tell you to go. But, I think we can make this work.” 

 They talked for a while, and then wrote up contracts to sign, promising respect for each others requests and boundaries and promising that Tasha staying at the house was not conditional upon any aspect of the relationship. If it ended, fine. Tasha would still be welcome. 

 Tasha slept in her own bed, and three days later, Clint was leaving again. He kissed his wife on the forehead, telling her he loved her and would try to be back sooner this time, and then he kissed Tasha on her forehead. “Take care of yourself, okay? And take care of them. You've done an amazing job; I’m so proud of you.” 

 Tasha was sad to see him go, even if it meant that she could sleep in his spot on the bed again. 

 A week later, Tasha burst into the bathroom to find Laura sobbing, but it wasn't from sadness: it was from joy. Laura had always felt emotions too strongly, Tasha thought to herself as she asked what it was. In response, Laura lifted up the positive pregnancy test. 

 It seemed their family just kept getting bigger. 

 Clint came home the day before Thanksgiving and Tasha could hear him whooping with joy from inside the house. They decided, to celebrate, they’d do a full feast for Thanksgiving, and Clint and Tasha did the cooking, both of them insisting Laura sit and rest even though she was still in the first trimester. When she insisted on doing something, they gave her the easier jobs, both enjoying giving her a hard time. 

 They sat down as a family. There was Callum and his unborn baby sister-- Laura was sure that it was a girl, and she said that she had known that Callum would be a boy too-- and then there was Clint the husband, and his wife Laura, and her girlfriend Tasha. Tasha didn't know the name for their relationship, just that it wasn't polygamy or polyamory or any of that. It was something special to the three of them that only they know, the terms written out on contracts that would never be notarized and would never hold up in a court of law, but were binding all the same. 

 Clint stayed for a full week before he had to go again, and when the time came he swore on his life that he’d be home a week before Christmas and he’d stay through the New Year. Before he left, Natasha pulled him aside, making sure that neither Laura or Callum could hear, and said “Clint, I need to ask you something.” 

 Clint’s expression immediately went to understanding. “Anything." 

 He and Laura were so similar sometimes. They really were perfect together. “I'm probably a bit rusty, but I… I want to go out in the field. I want to start doing stuff again. It doesn’t have to be field work right away, but… talk to Fury for me? Please?” 

 Clint judged her carefully, watching her every move. “Is something wrong here? Why do you want to leave?” 

 “I don’t want to, but… I need to. I've got red in my ledger, a lot more than I like to think about. I want to wipe it out.” 

 Clint kept looking over her carefully before nodding. “Okay. I don’t like it, but I… I understand. I'll talk to Fury, but in the meantime, I need you to talk to Laura. I will not spring this on her, okay?” 

 “Okay. Clint?” 

 “Yeah?” 

 “I love you.” 

 Tasha wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly before quickly retracting. But Clint held on, not letting her go until he got the chance to say “I love you too. Take care, Tash.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked this story. I've been wanting to write something like this for a long time and I loved the way it turned out, so please let me know your thoughts! And if anyone has any suggestions or ideas for future Natasha centered stories, please let me know!


End file.
